


Symbiosis

by Fudgyokra



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Hate Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda ehh, Love/Hate, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mostly Hate, Symbiotic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 23:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Every straw was supposed to be the last, but something inside of him was very, very sick.





	Symbiosis

**Author's Note:**

> While I Wrote:
> 
> Bang – Armchair Cynics  
> Control – Puddle of Mudd  
> Devil in the Details – Placebo  
> Make Me Bad – Korn  
> s(AINT) – Marilyn Manson  
> Sick Like Me – In This Moment  
> Slutgarden* – Marilyn Manson
> 
> There were others, too, but they aren't as important.  
> *Lyrics used at the beginning of the fic.

_You are the church_

_I am the steeple_

_When we fuck_

_We're all God's people_

* * *

What was left behind was a trail of scratch marks up and down thighs—a fiery, burning trail of nails along flesh. Dark blue bruises overlapping little green ones from before, making pale skin look like a watercolor painting. Bitten lips, smeared makeup. And, god, the blood.

Every straw was supposed to be the last, but something inside of him was very, very sick.

Across the warehouse he saw him, living in the shadows, clad in heeled boots and a long coat. It was like seeing a night terror—something Bruce couldn't look away from, even if he wanted to. Joker forced him to maintain his gaze, or god knows how dangerous this could end up being.

There wasn't a dictionary big enough to contain the words Bruce felt like he could say about it all—about him, and about the stage in their relationship at which they found themselves. It shouldn't have been like this, but the world had given them each other. They were soulmates in the most brutal, fucked up way Bruce could imagine.

He could see the girl from Berlin, choking to death on hot coal while Joker watched. Hate flashed, white-hot, behind his eyelids. He saw Jason Todd, mangled and left for dead. The only thing that could compete with hate was despair, and Bruce tried his damndest to stop himself from gravitating toward the freak in front of him. Nothing helped; it was as if they were magnetized.

Even now, as he felt nausea and penitence battle in his system, he felt the adrenaline kick in and supersede it all when the Joker spoke to him. Low, serious, with a sharp smile, "Come and get me, Batman."

When it began, it was like a well-oiled machine: Punch, kick, bite, pummel, throw, tackle.

By the end, it was much different: Kiss, shudder, moan, stammer, curse, gasp.

He wasn't sure if either of them understood why they did this, over and over and _over_ again until it hurt. Until it bled. Until Bruce was wracked with nausea and bruises alike and a sickly sense of shame itching just under the surface of his skin.

The Joker bathed in the glow with a warped sense of pride. He saw the way the other toppled like a domino, wavered in his faith and regretted his very existence, and it _thrilled_ him to the core.

"Do you hate me?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Do you love me?" he asked.

"Yes."

It was more than either of those things combined, more of a dark obsession riding on the coattails of madness, dragging them both deeper into the waters until you couldn't tell where Batman ended and Joker began.

"We're not so different," Joker said, because he knew Bruce hated it.

"I know." He'd always known.

"They oughta lock you up!" This was punctuated with a devious, _ha ha ha!_ Bruce curled his lip in bitter resentment.

In the end, he could not argue with anything the other man said, since it was the truth. All he had in terms of victory was the therapeutic release in this conquest of theirs; today, it had been the picture-perfect way Joker's eyes rolled back when Bruce's fingers tightened around his throat.

He wanted to love it, but when the Joker loved it, how could he?

When he left the building, he left behind proof of his existence on his worst enemy's body. Plundered, bruised. Without even looking, he could feel the stinging way the other grinned after him, burning a hole in his cape.

They would continue the game until they couldn't any longer, but in the end, the Joker would always walk away the winner.


End file.
